


Alternatives

by maurheti



Category: Southland
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drug Addiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maurheti/pseuds/maurheti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben knows it’s a mistake the minute he kisses her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternatives

**Author's Note:**

> Written because I can’t be having with Daisy, no matter how cute her ears are. Set post-1.06, pre-1.07. I just got rid of Daisy a little sooner... and maybe John started dating Cesar a little later.

Ben knows it’s a mistake the minute he kisses her. It’s hot; _she’s_ hot -- that’s not the problem. The problem is that he’s kissing her, but he’s seeing John. A kaleidoscope of images: the blond, curly hairs limning John’s forearm in the sunlight coming through the squad car’s windows; all the different permutations of John’s smile; the expression on his face when he came between Ben and his father. 

And if the mood hadn’t already been dead, that thought would have killed it for sure. He breaks the kiss, still holding her shoulders but creating a little distance. He’s trying to be gentle; she just looks confused. 

“Ben, what...?” 

“Daisy. This... I can’t do this.” Now she looks hurt. Great. Ben drops his hands. It’s easy to give her an excuse that’s the truth, but... not entirely. Like a lot of things in his life right now. “It’s against department policy, and --”

“And like you said, you’re loyal,” Daisy interrupts. She breathes out slowly. “I guess that goes for every aspect of your life, not just the personal.” 

Ben shrugs his shoulders, not sure what to say to that without lying. It’s _all_ personal. And that’s something he’s been trying very hard not to think too much about. 

Daisy runs her fingers along his jaw, over his lips, evaluating his reaction. He doesn’t have to work very hard at not having one. It almost makes him laugh. 

“Not going to change your mind, either, are you?” 

Ben shakes his head. “I’m sorry.” 

Daisy snorts at that, a little pissed now. “You know, the funny thing? I knew this was going to happen. Always bad timing, with you.”

Ben shakes his head again and touches her arm, trying to make this easier for her. “Look, you can still stay, if you want... if your house still freaks you out.” 

Daisy bites her lip, looks away. “My dad is back home, I’ll be okay.” Still pissed. Ben sighs. 

“I’ll, uhm, walk you out, then.” He steps back, catches her gaze. For a moment they just look at each other. Ben tries a smile as a peace offering, which makes her snort again, but he does get a reluctant smile back. Even though he meant it when he offered, he’s suddenly very relieved she’s not staying. 

He follows Daisy out the front door and down to the street, almost running into her when she comes to abrupt stop. 

“Who is that?” she asks, alarm in her voice. 

Ben looks over her shoulder. What the _hell_...? John is half-sitting, half-leaning on the hood of his car, arms crossed, eyebrows raised in an expression of disbelief that probably matches his own. John looks... dangerous, almost, and Ben can’t look away. 

“Ben!” Daisy says sharply, which makes him realize that his silence is unnerving her even more.

“That’s my training officer.” Ben finally manages to tear his eyes away. “You met him at your place, when... After the break-in.” 

“Oh. Right.” Ben can practically see the tension flowing out of her. “Hi,” she calls out to John, who nods at her. She turns toward Ben, tucking her hair back behind her ear, in a hurry to leave now. “Bye, Ben. I’ll... see you around, maybe.” 

“Sure,” he answers. “Let me know if...” He’s not sure how to finish that sentence, still totally thrown off by John’s presence. 

Daisy quirks her mouth at him. “Yeah.” 

Ben watches her get into her car and drive away. When he can’t see her taillights anymore, he takes a deep breath and turns around. John is still there, still looking at him. Seeing him here feels completely surreal, like a fantasy come to life. A fantasy. Shit. Ben has to stop himself from laughing hysterically. This would be funny if it weren’t so ridiculous. 

“Nice car,” Ben finally says, more to have an excuse to stop looking at John again than anything else. 

“I know,” John says, dismissively. He shifts his weight forward. “What’s going on here, Sherman? You so hard up for a date you’re hooking up with women you meet at crime scenes now? Or are you still trying to save Mommy?” 

Ben huffs out a laugh. This game they are playing: it’s annoying and tiresome, but also strangely comforting. “How’s your back? Scored any pills lately?”

John narrows his eyes, but he’s grinning now. “Okay, fine. We both have issues.” 

Ben is not willing to let it go that easily. “And why are you bringing your issues to my house?”

“Why am I...?” John’s grin gets bigger. “To keep yours company, lover boy.” 

Ben has seen that grin before. It’s a little dangerous, a little hard, and it makes his mouth go dry. It’s also something John uses when he’s trying to hide the fact that what he’s saying has more truth to it than he wants to admit. 

Which is... interesting, but not entirely unexpected. They’ve been dancing around this for a while now, whatever _this_ is. 

All Ben knows is that he is trying so hard to be careful around everybody. Around John. Except that John won’t let him. He keeps pushing, keeps looking inside Ben’s head and not being afraid of what he finds there. It makes Ben angry. It also turns him on. He closes his eyes for a second, and realizes he’s trying to think through a decision he already made the minute he saw John sprawled on the hood of his car.

Fuck it.

“Want to come in?” he offers. 

John levers himself up. “I don’t know, you got any other surprises inside?” 

Ben sighs in exasperation and motions John up the path. 

He is moving more loosely, Ben sees as he follows him. Not that John isn’t pretty good at hiding his discomfort most of the time, strapping it in with a back support brace he thinks nobody notices, but Ben has been paying attention. He can tell there’s a little less precision this evening. No brace. Pills. Maybe some alcohol, too. Shit. He doesn’t even want to know where John got the drugs. 

*** * ***

If seeing John outside his house was surreal, seeing John inside his house is doubly so. John doesn’t say anything when he steps inside, but he does raise his eyebrows as he scans the place, eyes lingering on some of the art on the walls. 

“Can I get you something?” Ben asks, walking into the kitchen. He experiences a moment of déjà vu, realizing he’s echoing what he said to Daisy. He almost expects to see her instead of John when he turns around. 

“Got a beer?” John leans up against the counter. Definitely _not_ Daisy standing in his kitchen, looking solid and real and totally at home, changing the picture in Ben’s head so that it’s the memory of Daisy’s presence that becomes surreal. 

Ben grabs two beers out of the fridge and opens them, handing one to John. 

“So.” John takes a swallow. “What’s the deal with you and little Miss Bel Air?” 

“No deal.” Ben leans up against the refrigerator and tries very hard not to stare at John’s mouth. Or his hand, wrapped around the beer bottle, index finger stroking up and down the neck. 

“No? What, she just happened to be in the neighborhood this time of night?” 

He’s got to be kidding. Ben laughs. “Seriously? You really want to go there?” 

John looks at Ben appraisingly, a half-smile on his face. Ben swallows. 

There it is again, this thing. Maybe John _does_ want to go there. He thinks he knows about John; nobody has said anything, really, but he is good at reading between the lines. He doesn’t think John knows about him, though. Not that he’s... He doesn’t like labels, and he likes Daisy just fine. Daisy is familiar. And yes, John is right, he does tend toward trying to fix things. People. Women. But what he _wants_... 

Time telescopes out, until for a moment it seems like everything is happening in slow motion. Ben takes a step forward and puts his beer on the counter. He reaches for John’s bottle, putting it next to his. 

John is still looking at Ben, but there’s a different expression on his face now: part challenge, which is familiar, and part heat, which makes Ben’s cock instantly hard. He reaches out and hooks his fingers in John’s belt, pulling him closer. 

Ben wants to be slow about this, take his time and feel his way, but when he stretches up, John is already there to meet him, hands wrapping around his hips. The word “slow” disappears from Ben’s vocabulary. 

It’s not a kiss so much as an attack. He lays waste to John’s mouth with tongue and teeth until John groans and moves one hand up to curve just below Ben’s jaw, pushing his head back, biting at his lip, along his jaw. 

“Jesus Christ, Ben. Are you sure about this?” John’s voice sounds a little rough in his ear.

Ben takes a deep breath, trying to regain some control. Is he sure about this? Life is filled with problems: fragile mothers, fucked-up fathers, crossed lines. Reality blurs. And so he wants something real, something raw. Something like John Cooper. Who may be part of the problem, but who is also the most real thing in Ben’s life right now. 

He answers John by claiming his mouth again, falling into the kiss as John takes control and unhurriedly sucks on his bottom lip before licking his way into Ben’s mouth. John shifts their alignment, and Jesus, the sudden friction against his dick almost takes his breath away. The feel of John hard against him makes him grunt in surprise though, and John breaks the kiss, raising his eyebrows at Ben. 

“Problem?” 

“No problem, I just wasn’t expecting...” Ben slides his hand down John’s length through his jeans. 

John looks confused for a moment, then narrows his eyes at Ben. “It’s my back that’s messed up, not my dick.”

Ben can’t help smiling at the affront in John’s voice. “It’s just... the drugs...” 

“You want to discuss my side effects, or you want to do something with this?” John rocks his hips forward, rubbing himself against Ben’s hand. 

Heat coils tightly in Ben’s groin again, and for a moment he closes his eyes, lost in the sensation. 

“Make up your mind, Ben.” John’s voice is almost a whisper.

Ben looks up. John’s expression is slightly wary. He’s waiting, Ben realizes, still not sure about him wanting this, taking his stillness as hesitation. Or...

He leans in, hand cupping John’s dick more firmly. “Are _you_ sure about this?” 

John’s eyes darken. “I’m the one who came to your house,” he answers, shifting again, pushing Ben’s hand away and running his hands up and then down Ben’s chest, lower, undoing Ben’s pants.

Ben sucks in a breath. “You’re also the one on drugs.” 

“At least I’m not the one fucking poor little rich girls.” John slides his hand down and wraps it around Ben’s cock, squeezing just a little too tightly. 

Ben barely stops himself from moaning. “I didn’t...” John strokes his hand up, dragging against the skin, and it’s uncomfortable and intense and perfect. “ _Fuck_.” 

“Huh. Why not? She’s not fucked up enough for you?” Another stroke, and if John doesn’t stop this soon, Ben is going to come. 

He wraps his hand around John’s, trying to slow him down. “Apparently I prefer drug addicts,” he finally manages to say. 

“That doesn’t really give me any incentive to quit,” John’s face is flushed, and his voice sounds about an octave lower than usual. Seeing John so turned on from watching him get off does not help with Ben’s control, though. And what he _really_ wants...

Ben takes a breath, pulls John’s hand off his dick, and pushes him up against the counter. “Maybe I can give you an alternative.” Ben kneels down in front of him and reaches to undo his belt, his fly.

John is about to say something when Ben runs his mouth up the underside of John’s shaft, angling his head and swallowing him down when he gets to the head. All that comes out is a groan as John’s eyes close and his head goes back, jaw muscles clenching. His hands fist into Ben’s hair, and Ben has to brace himself against John’s hips when John involuntarily rocks his body forward. 

He relaxes his throat and lets John fuck into him. He has to concentrate on not coming just from the noises John is making, his own cock flush up against his stomach, so hard he _aches_. 

It doesn't take long before John’s whole body tightens, and then he is coming down Ben’s throat, cock pulsing. Ben swallows reflexively, and wraps one hand around the root of John’s shaft as he pulls his mouth of, stroking him through the rest of his orgasm.

“Fucking _christ_... Ben...”

The fucked-out look on John’s face is so hot Ben can hardly breathe. He has to... 

All it takes is one tight stroke up his own dick and he’s done, coming all over his fist, the floor, the sensation so intense it travels through him like a shock wave.

It takes him a few moments to recover, his body completely uncoordinated.

When Ben looks up again, John is leaning back on his elbows on the counter behind him, gaze measured. Ben isn’t sure where to go from here; all of a sudden the situation is almost too real, the change too big for him to deal with. 

“Jesus, Sherman.” John finally breaks the silence, still a little out of breath. “Where did you learn how to do that? No, wait, let me guess -- summer camp?”

Ben shakes his head, but he can’t help grinning. Maybe the change isn’t as big as he thinks. “Beverly Hills Country Club, actually,” he answers.

John exhales a laugh. “Should’ve known. Goddamn rich kids. Any other skills I don’t know about?”

Ben levers himself up carefully. “Couple,” he answers. He licks his lips, tasting John on them. He doesn’t miss the fact that John’s gaze drops briefly, nor the flash of heat in John’s eyes that follows. 

“You going to show me?” John reaches forward and starts tugging Ben’s pants farther down his hips.

Maybe this is where they’re going, for now. Ben grabs John’s wrists. “You going to see a doctor?” 

“Oh, there are conditions now?” 

Ben shrugs, grinning again. “No conditions. Just alternatives.”


End file.
